


the smaller world

by shortitude



Series: i will follow you into the dark [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Female Friendship, Gen, Joint Exile, Male-Female Friendship, Set during Thor, Sif-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 12:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4435886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortitude/pseuds/shortitude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Odin gives his sentence: exile for his eldest son. Lady Sif is there, and she does not keep silent. If the once future King of Asgard must fall to Earth without his hammer, at least he will have Sif as his weapon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the smaller world

**Author's Note:**

> (aka, that alternate setting where Sif joins Thor in exile during the first Thor movie.)
> 
> I've been sitting on this idea for GOD KNOWS HOW LONG. I love Sif, this much is undeniable. I wanted to write a piece in which Sif, for all her bravery and loyalty and friendship to Thor, would jump right down the rabbit hole with him. This is the first in a series, and if you're wondering "but wait, are you going to write Sif Stays On Earth fics for each of the Thor and Avengers movies?" you'd probably be correct. I hope, at least.

The frost of Jotunnheim still clings to her fingertips when Odin dictates his sentence. _Exile_ , for brash disregard of his laws and rules, for risking another war with the Frost Giants; exile for his heir prince, for the almost King of Asgard. 

Sif happens upon the scene by luck – though she would be adamant that there is no such thing as luck, if luck could not be something you forged for yourself – turning around halfway to taking Fandral to get his arm looked at by Eìr because she has a feeling. Gut instinct has never guided her wrong before, and thus she comes back to find the Allfather furious, his youngest son keeping back from the scolding and Thor, ever Thor, defiant.

 _Exile_ , Odin sentences, _and no Mjolnir, no powers_. With a snap of his fingers, the great enchanter turns his son mortal. Befitting the world he’s being sent to, with no defense except that of his mind. 

And it isn’t as though Sif does not trust his mind, for he is a great strategist when push comes to shove. But something smells rotten here, and in the flick of a second she cannot discern it. (Later though, she’ll recall a flash of sly satisfaction from Loki and deny to herself that she saw it. Later, she’ll still wish to believe her childhood friend is there, still, and not a creature consumed by greed.)

The Allfather sends Mjolnir away first, and Sif’s gut shrinks and it is painful. She shouts her “ _No_ ,” before she can think, her grief sudden and drawing the attention of the men in the room. “Allfather,” she squeezes out under his demanding stare, then goes to one knee out of sheer habit. “Twas not just _his_ plot.” Funny, why is Loki looking tense in this very moment? Does he think her the sort to point fingers at him now? Sif looks up, her face solemn, her words bearing the weight of resonance: “I encouraged it.”

\---

“I’m just saying, he came out of nowhere -- _you_ came out of nowhere,” babbles the human woman, while they stand over Thor’s knocked out form. The vehicle that hit him hit Sif as well, but she feels fine; it wasn’t more than a scratch, and she has recovered, yet her friend has not. It’s worrying, and yet it is also sly.

 _Odin_ is a sly King, she reminds herself; sending them both to exile, but under different circumstances. Where Thor will learn his lesson in not rushing headfirst into war and conflict ( _but after whose advice_ ), the Lady Sif will be at his side with all the attributes that set her apart as Aesir intact. To guard him, presumably, from harm – or from harming himself. It will be a long exile, if Odin has deemed it fit to arm Thor either way; his hammer might no longer answer to him, but he has Sif. She will be the alien among these people, and she must already be vigilant. 

The two women and the man who greeted them, vehicle-in-the-head-first, are standing congregated around Thor’s unconscious body. The younger one pokes his side with her toe, and Sif pins her down with a hardened stare. 

“Got it, no touchy,” she mutters, backing off. She holds her hands up in surrender, a foreign object in the left one. 

It is in that moment that Asgard’s future king awises, stumbling to his feet with a growled “ _You dare_ \--“, and Sif learns what the foreign object is when the young woman shrieks and activates it. 

Thor Odinson, doing his interpretation of a fish on dry land, manages to get a little laugh out of Sif. “I should like one of those,” she mutters to herself, for who wouldn’t want to control lightning? The mortals stare at her as if she’s grown another head, so quickly she clears her throat and straightens her posture. “We would appreciate shelter, friends, and we may forget about these incidents.” 

The slightly older woman finally speaks up, after gaping at Sif then gaping at Thor then pointing wordlessly towards the burnt markings of the Bifrost. She sobers up with a shake of her head, and then points to Thor. “We should get him to the hospital, make sure he’s not concussed.” 

Right, concussions would be a bad way to start this exile. Sif will be the hammer in this small world, this world that has grown way beyond what Sif remembers it to be, and so she walks over to Thor and picks him up in her arms. Devoid of his powers, the crown prince weight not more than a baby. (She’ll make sure to tell him that.)

“Where to?” she asks the same woman, the one she’s determined to be in charge. 

“I wanna be her when I grow up,” murmurs the youngest one, and Sif grins half a grin, thinking she must wait another couple millennia for that.

“ _Darcy_ ,” hisses the other woman; one name down. To Sif, a little more politely, “Here, lay him down in the back of the van, we’ll drive you.” 

\---

The hospital proves to be a terrible idea.

Tensions run high with the mortals more than a couple of time. First, upon what Darcy calls _registration_ , when the healer asks Sif if she is family or friend. “We are brothers in arms,” she answers, the statement automatic; it’s what she’s fed herself for the past centuries, after all. It turns out not to be enough to earn her ‘visitation rights’, and thus Sif becomes _Mrs. Odinson_ for half a night. 

The lie churns in her gut, but there is no easier or better way for her to stand by Thor’s side as healers look over him, and the woman – Jane Foster, she finally gives her name – lies once more for her by saying that the two of them are tourists who lost their paperwork and were found walking through the desert without orientation. 

The second time, it’s when Thor snaps back into consciousness. Sif is not close to dozing off in her very small chair in the corner of his room, but she would feel the moment coming before it happened either way. With or without his title of God of Thunder, there is a certain charge in the room just before he opens his eyes. 

He shakes his nurse (healer, Sif has quickly learned, is a term frowned upon by ‘professionals’ in medicine) off rather violently, and she is quick to rush to his side and make him stop. 

The doctor is called soon after. Before he arrives, Thor finally looks at her, his gaze searing deep into her soul. She avoids making eye contact, but still hears the soft, “You should not have fallen with me, my friend.” Hates him a little, for saying that instead of a thank you. 

The third time for tension: the doctor wants all their data in order to let them go. Sif has none to give, and little knowledge of how to lie convincingly in this case now that Jane Foster has left. Thor keeps wisely silent, grim. 

“We would rather leave. Our friend, Jane Foster, has promised shelter.” Another lie from her mouth; Jane promised nothing of the sort, but Sif would rather they put distance between them and the hospital before more eyes came to focus on them. 

The doctor does not look very impressed. 

\---

In the end, they have to sneak out. Rather hard to do, when one of them is as large and broad-shouldered as Thor and the other is wearing armour that will make her, undoubtedly, memorable to every patron in this hospital. But they have been through worst, more hostile terrains than this one. 

“Imagine the scandal Eír would cause upon seeing this,” Thor murmurs low to her, pointing towards the line of people waiting to be ‘registered’. Sif imagines Asgard’s healer, and just as acutely she imagines _Asgard_ , an ache in her heart the size of a hammer. 

She glances at Thor to find the same look, full of longing, and brushes her fingertips lightly over his wrist; he releases his fingers from the tight fist they were in and looks at her. “We would do well to stop, lest we give Hogun the Grim competition,” Sif jokes, and a small victory is counted in Thor’s soft smile. 

\---

Jane Foster’s office is remarkably easy to find, when Sif asks the right person. Jane Foster, however, does not look as charmed by this as Sif is. 

“Oh man, look at this guy, he’s like photoshopped,” shouts Darcy from the next room over.

“ _Darcy_ ,” Jane groans, and gives Sif a sheepish smile. “Sorry, my assistant’s a little…much.” 

Sif raises her hand as if to say it’s no worry, because truth be told she quite likes the young Darcy. And either way, a few seconds later Darcy comes back into the room with Dr. Selvig, followed closely by Thor. He fits Selvig’s clothes well, in Sif’s opinion, but Sif’s opinion does not matter. 

“You will all be repaid plentifully for your kindness,” Thor finally says, to the awkward silence in the room. 

Jane – Sif can see her blushing, but it doesn’t make her jealous any more than seeing Dr. Selvig blush at the sight of Thor’s biceps does – looks away and answers with, “I’m _sure_.” 

_She does not believe him._ So strange this is, for Thor to speak with kindness and be answered with sarcasm, that it rakes down Sif’s mind like nails down flesh. “Well, you did run us over with your van.” 

“So does anyone want breakfast?” Darcy, and yes Sif does like the girl, dispels the tension quickly. 

\---

It is only polite that they offer to carry the food to the table, what with being the ones who ordered the most of it. Sif piles tray after tray of mugs filled with some aromatic black liquid and doughy squares the waitress called _waffles_ in Thor’s arms. 

_Here one day and he is already learning what it is like to serve rather than be served food_. She looks up to comment on it being a good look on him, when she spots the smirk on his lips instead. It startles her a little, but it’s welcomed; the sooner they can put the pain of being exiled behind them, the better. 

“What?”

“Blackmail, Lady Sif?” He chuckles, and were his hands not full she’s sure he would slap her back. “I did not expect such mischief from you.” 

Sif raises an eyebrow. “No mischief from War? You must not have been paying attention.” 

“No, clearly not,” he murmurs, fondly. 

Whatever this is, she has no patience for it. “Off with you,” she shoos him away, then turns around to smile at the woman filling up another two mugs with the black liquid. 

“Your boyfriend’s very cute,” the woman tells her. 

Sif hears _boy friend_ and wonders why Midgardians would need to specify gender before the title. Strange people, these. She shrugs one shoulder and glances behind her at the table where Thor is applauded for his dexterity carrying breakfast by a very hungry-looking Darcy Lewis. “He is,” she murmurs, “I suppose.” 

“Aww, been together long?” 

“Centuries,” is automatic. She shakes her head and looks back at the waitress, “It feels like, at least.” 

Whatever else the woman wants to say, it gets drowned by the shout of “ _ANOTHER_ ,” from behind them, and Sif has barely enough time to whirl around and shout _no_ before Thor smashes the mug on the ground. 

“ _Long_ centuries,” she mutters, and joins the others before her headache becomes worse. 

\---

In the end, they are offered shelter with Jane Foster, Doctor Selvig and Darcy Lewis, because Thor tells them about the Bifrost. Thor also tells them that they are Aesir, but Sif doesn’t feel the need to reprimand him because it doesn’t look like Jane or Darcy believe him much; they share a look that Sif has grown used to, the same look her parents shared when she would claim to want to be a warrior. 

The second night, nobody ends up being the victim of vans. Thor joins Selvig out in the small village for drinks to honour his ancestors, and Sif is offered to enjoy a glass of wine with Jane on the lawn of her trailer. 

It turns out, Sif rather likes wine. It also turns out, Sif can very much drink more of it than Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis combined. 

Thor returns just as she finishes carrying Jane to her bed, and together they do the same with Selvig. 

The stars are beautiful tonight, and they both occupy the long chairs set out in front of the trailer, with a blanket to keep them safe from the desert’s cold. 

“’tis not so bad,” Thor murmurs, after minutes spent contemplating the constellations. He is trying to put a spin on this exile, but Sif can smell the lie on him; she could always tell when he lied. 

“Have you tried to find Asgard yet?”

“Aye, there.” He points out towards a star, a million lifetimes away. Sif’s heart feels small, small, small. His hand finds her across the space between their chairs, and his squeeze is gentle; Sif’s heart feels small. “Thank you.” 

“Always.” 

\---

Trouble comes the third day. Trouble comes wearing elegant suits and driving black vehicles that remind Sif of bulls. Trouble’s name is Phillip, son of Coul, and he decides that for whatever reason, he must confiscate all of Jane’s work. 

Paperwork is carried out in boxes, explanations are not given, and Sif happens upon it when returning from the village with the groceries she offered Jane to get for her. 

Trouble, it seems, has knocked heads with Thor’s own brand of chivalry, because she spots him in the back of a vehicle with his arms restrained, and her blood boils. 

“What is the meaning of this?” she asks, her voice a silent threat. She speaks directly to Jane, however, in spite of the suited man acting like he’s the one in charge here. 

“They’re taking everything,” Jane rushes out, before the man can open his mouth. Her tone is vitriolic. “Because of some _hammer_.” 

“They’ve taken my iPod, Sif, do something!”

The edge of the world feels closer now, at her fingertips. She hears _hammer_ in Jane’s voice over and over, and scans the area to count how many men in suits are carrying the boxes. Fifteen. Quite a small army for a couple of journals. And Thor, restrained in the back of the car. _Mjolnir_. 

“—can’t just arrest him for trying to defend our private property, suit!” 

Sif holds her hand out, silencing Darcy before she gets ‘arrested’ as well. “What is your name?”

“I’m Phil Coulson, I’m with the Strategic Homel—“

“ _Son of Coul_.” He looks put off by not getting to finish his sentence, and Sif thinks _good_. She is not going to be nice, if they are holding Mjolnir and Thor hostages at once. “You will release that man, and take us to Mjolnir, or suffer the consequences.” 

Behind her, Darcy whispers “What’s a myew-nyew?”

“The hammer,” Jane whispers back, because she is very quick on her feet. 

“I’m afraid we can’t do that,” says Coulson, who is not as smart as Jane, “We’re investigating—“

“I am _not_ negotiating,” Sif interrupts again, and takes one step closer. (Fifteen men, armed, and she is not in her armour. As comfortable as the jeans Darcy lent her are, they’re not fit to fight in. So, she bluffs.) 

“Neither am I, ma’am,” Coulson snaps back. 

And so, regrettably, he signs his fate. Sif punches him. 

\---

She is not _held_ in a cell as much as she _agrees_ to sit in the cell as long as they treat Thor with the respect he deserves and release him from the restraints. They both agree to follow the men of SHIELD, because they have found Mjolnir. 

A woman interrogates Sif, perhaps because Coulson believe she won’t lash out at her own kin. But she proves him wrong once more, when Thor’s grief-stricken shout reaches her cell. She doesn’t break her interrogator’s arm, but she does knock her out, and take the door out of its hinges in her rush to find her friend. 

And so they end up, the two of them in the middle of the compound, surrounded by men and women with guns aimed at them, and all her focus on Thor. He cannot lift Mjolnir, and he cannot finish the sentence beyond the repetition of “Father, Father,” but Sif connects the dots very well without him, too. 

\---

They are released, because Sif threatens all of SHIELD in the name of Asgard. It is not a threat she is free to make anymore, for her only redeemer is now gone, and Loki will not be a King whose first rule will be to infringe Odin’s last. But SHIELD does not know that.

Whatever “You’ll hear from our Director,” means, she is too focused on not spilling a tear as she and Thor walk out of the compound to care. 

\---

Jane, Darcy and Erik seem happy enough to see them that they invite them inside Jane’s emptied out office regardless of their involvement in it being like this. 

They are having coffee and sharing in the grim mood when three loud bangs grab their attention. 

Beyond the glass doors, Fandral, Volstagg and Hogun grin at them like they’ve just happened upon Valhala. Sif’s heart feels big, big, big. 

\---

She has to pull Fandral away from showing Darcy her ‘genuine Asgardian sword’ before things escalate, just to get a word in with him. 

“How?” 

“We asked ourselves, what would our Lady Sif do, in the face of a suspicious King?”

Lady Sif, ever the loyal warrior, obedient and ruled by that rather than by her heart. Except – except for the man for whom she would follow into exile, if needed be.

“Betrayal?” she asks.

“Betrayal,” Fandral nods. 

\---

As hard as it is to accept the truths her Warriors Three tell them about Loki, about Odin not being dead but in Odinsleep, and as dread as they are to admit just how the dots connect on this very intricate usurpation of the throne, it’s that much harder not to believe it when Loki sends down the Sentinel. 

Loss does not taste bitter on the tongue this day. It almost does, once, when she thinks she cannot safe this small village, these welcoming people, so how does she expect to save her beloved Asgard; and once more, when the Sentinel sends Thor flying, and the fear of loss almost rips her apart.

But in the end, the dust settles and there stands Thor again, Mjolnir in his hand and his red cape fluttering lightly in the breeze. 

\---

SHIELD escorts them to where the Bifrost will pick them up. All of them, their fellow Midgadian friends included, stand in wait of Heimdall to open the bridge, when Sif thinks back on the village. 

What fault do they have for the wars of others touching ground on their streets? 

“Go,” she tells the Warriors Three, and stands back. “Get to the bottom of this,” she tells Thor, and does not reach out to touch him because there is no time. 

“Will you clean our mess, Lady Sif?” he jokes, separation making his tone soft again. 

She rolls her eyes. “Do I not always?” 

They leave. “I will send back for you,” Thor promises, but ultimately they leave. 

\---

She doesn’t feel the Bifrost when it falls. 

She waits the rest of the day, sitting on the ground in the middle of the circles, until night falls. It’s only when she falls asleep that she learns of it, brother Heimdall visiting her just once to let her know. When she awakens, she doesn’t know what to grieve over first. 

\---

Two days later, she is back in the same SHIELD holding room as before, but this time with a mug of coffee to make her aware that she’s a guest. 

There is a man, and he reminds her a little of Heimdall, except for the eyepatch which reminds her of the Allfather. He is telling her, “I’m not a religious man, Lady Sif.”

She finds herself laughing. “No? Because you have been worshipping me for quite some time, Director Fury.” 

She likes that name. _Fury_. She imagines him, leading his warriors into battle with an iron fist. She imagines him, fighting for righteous causes and saving lives, protecting Midgard. And Sif, who has a lifetime to wait, who is too used to the weight of a sword in her hand, who has grown fond of at least three Midgardians – fond enough to want to protect them and their world – accepts his offer.


End file.
